


Always Wear Expensive Shoes

by deathwailart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Girls with Guns, Italian Mafia, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always wear expensive shoes, people notice - Brian Koslow.</p>
<p>Part of the same verse as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/293638">Riding My Decisions Home</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Wear Expensive Shoes

Allegra makes it to sixteen before she actively kills someone up close and personal. She is sixteen and wearing three hundred and twenty-nine euro Christian Louboutin Papilipi Satin Pumps. They are black, with ruched chiffon wing detailing on the top. The insoles are leather and the soles signature red with four inch heels. The rest of her clothes are incidental – a black pinafore dress with grey pinstripe and a plain white blouse – but the blood seeps from the stab wound into the gaps at the top of the shoes and when she walks she can feel it slip and stick. The leather will no doubt be stained. The blood spatter stains her collar and neck but that doesn’t bother her so much. She’s never felt blood on her feet and the sensation of her skin pulling ever so slightly makes her sick. She brushes her hair behind her ear and her fingers are red, the knife still clutched in her left hand. Behind her she can hear people – family soldiers, Campana family soldiers – clearing up, the body being loaded into the boot of a car and its all business as usual, business she has been brought up in but still, she throws up violently at the end of the alley and takes off her shoes. The pavement is cool and damp from the earlier rain and she wriggles her toes as though she’s a child and on a beach in Tuscany again.  
  
“Allegra?” She jerks up when Renato strides towards her, taking the knife from her hand. Her hand is almost frozen around it and her fingers hurt when she flexes them and reflexively she wipes her palm down the front of the pinafore. “You okay?” Renato is shrugging off his jacket to tuck around his shoulders and she bends to pick up her shoes, following the capo on tip toe, skirting around the pool of blood from Greasy de Palma.  
  
“I’m fine,” she replies and when she slips into the backseat of the car she is careful to press her knees together tight. Renato slides in next to her and the door is shut behind him. He doesn’t have the knife anymore and she asks about it; it was a gift from a friend with mother of pearl inlaid on the handle and she doesn’t want to lose it. Renato is reluctant when he hands it back, watching her slide it away against her thigh and if she didn’t know him better she’d say he was embarrassed at seeing so much of his bosses daughter’s bare leg. She knows that he’s worried because it’s only been a year since she first got brought into this life and they’ve been trying to keep her at a distance from something so up close and personal but she has to deal with it at some point. Greasy de Palma was easy, fat and slow and too full of himself to believe someone so young could down him.  
  
“Little girl,” Renato’s hand catches under her chin and there must be blood on her face because he rubs his fingers hard enough for her to pull back, “we all care about you and doing what you did, it messes people up. Driver,” he leans forward and taps the man on the shoulder, “we’re going to my place first. Lady needs to wash up.”  
  
“Thanks,” Allegra says when Renato sits back again and drops her head to rest on his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t mention it. Figured you’d want to clean those babies up too.” Allegra laughs and rubs her hands against her dress watching the blood flake off.  
  
“Will you make me a Red Russian?”  
  
“I will always make you Red Russians little girl.”  
  
The drive to Renato’s bar doesn’t take long and they go in through the back and up the stairs to the deceptively large apartment where Renato bustles around looking out a shirt and a pair of jeans for her to put on. Thankfully the blood only clings to the ends of her hair so once her hands are clean and dry she combs through it with her fingers and wrings out a wash cloth to wipe away the blood on her neck and feet before setting to work on her shoes. It’s painstaking and her fingers are cramping by the time she’s done but most of the blood is gone, only faint imprints left and hopefully her mother can find someone to get the last of that out. She curses de Palma again for making her nearly ruin a pair of gorgeous Louboutins. When she’s done she clutches the shoes in one hand and holds her folded clothes to her chest, walking carefully to keep Renato’s jeans from falling down. The shirt is buttoned almost all the way but it hangs from one shoulder so when she places her clothes on one of the bar stools in Renato’s kitchen she hauls it back up.  
  
“Here,” Renato passes her the glass and she smiles and waits for him to pop the top from his beer before they clink glasses. “Cin cin.”  
  
“Cin cin,” she echoes and sips at her drink, eyes closed. “You need to make drinks for me more often.”  
  
“Hush, you probably shouldn’t be having that.”  
  
“I’ve had wine at the table since I was little. Dad slipped me rum and whiskey every so often when I got older.”  
  
“I’m not your father, just a capo and he might skin me.”  
  
“You’re too valuable and Santino would be devastated. He idolises you.”  
  
“He made me promise that I’d let him work in the bar one day. He likes cooking though, doesn’t he?”  
  
Allegra takes another sip of her drink – she won’t get another one tonight – and smiles. “Santino’s always cooking with mama. The boy likes his knives.”  
  
“We could certainly use that,” Renato muses, grabbing the phone when it rings. She knows it’s her father from the way he straightens up and the formal language so she finishes the drink and gets to her feet. “Your old man’s out back waiting for you.”  
  
“I thought as much.” Still holding the jeans with one hand she stretches up to kiss Renato on one cheek and then the other.  “Thanks for this.”  
  
“Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
  
“I am. Well, will be when it sinks in. You can pick these up tomorrow.”  
  
“No rush little girl.”  
  
He walks her down the stairs and to the car, picking her up so she doesn’t dirty her now clean feet and waves them off. Her father ruffles her hair and tells the driver to take the main route home.  
  
“I’m proud of you Allegra. Greasy de Palma was by no means a small fish,” he kisses her temple and smoothes the collar of Renato’s shirt, “a disgusting bloated one but you caught him off guard and that’s difficult.” She tries to smile but she can tell it isn’t convincing when he gathers her close. The shock is wearing off and she sniffles quietly. “Ah Allegra, welcome to our life. It gets easier. Next time you’ll be prepared and you will be glorious.”


End file.
